Supervision
by Mad Libs
Summary: Auron finds himself performing one of the less appealing duties accorded to a parent and/or guardian - taking a snotty seven year old to an ice show.


"You can only be young once. But you can always be immature. "  
-Dave Barry

Auron had known as many things in his life; a legend in his time, a hero to the suffering multitudes of Spira, a peerless (ex) warrior monk, bringer of hope to a land of despair (that last one made him want to murder something, preferably something in a metal bikini). However, despite the numberless attributions he'd received, nowhere would you see him billed as "paternal." Sure, in his life as a monk he had occasionally been referred to as "a father to his men," but the title had always puzzled him exceedingly; admittedly he'd grown up in a temple and had little experience of family life, but he was fairly certain fathers didn't typically fling their children into battle with the transformed souls of the damned.

Therefore, he thought to himself, all things considered it wass fortunate that Tidus's past fatherly experience equated mostly to drunken mockery. Kept expectations low.

He winced at the thought. Jecht, the Jecht he had known towards the end, was a good man, loyal and dependable, but the Jecht Tidus knew was the same drunken idiot Braska had recruited at the beginning of the Pilgrimage, the one who had made Auron want to slam his own head (or if possible Jecht's) against a nearby wall. It was disturbing to think of such a man attempting to raise a child, and given the neuroses Tidus appeared to already possess, not at all healthy.

And now it appeared to be up to him to raise this sullen, emotionally fragmented seven year old into a warrior capable of defeated an all-consuming evil that had been killing Spira's best and brightest for a thousand years. Oh, and if it wasn't too much trouble, see that he had the emotional and moral fortitude to give up the very existence of his entire world in the process. He glanced at the boy picking his nose while watching animated children's programs on the Sphere. Joyous.

"That's a filthy habit." he said. "It spreads pestilence and is the mark of a dunce."

Tidus turned from the drivel he was watching and glared at him. _Must _he always watch that nonsense? Auron had thought Mika's annual Sermon to Those Suffering Under the Burden of Sin (or, as Jecht had blasphemously dubbed it on the one occasion he heard it, the "Why You and Everybody You Know and Love Deserve to Die Painfully Speech") was the absolute lowest form of entertainment, but the ability of Zanarkand producers to create masterpieces such as _Morro the Magic Mooba_ had convinced him otherwise.

"I saw my old man do it all the time, and you're a big fan of his." Tidus said, his scowl now matching Auron's own.

"Are you saying you wish to imitate Jecht?"

Tidus stuck out his tongue at him. Ladies and gentlemen, the Future Savior of Spira. Auron maintained his glare for a few seconds, then grunted and returned to the maintenance of his weapon. Honestly, it was his own terrible incompetence at his assigned task that was irritating him rather than Tidus's juvenile inclinations. The boy was stuck in a truly unenviable situation, with one now-missing, emotionally abusive father and a replacement that was more comfortable bashing the skulls of behemoths in than telling bedtime stores. Admittedly, he did have a mother, but Jecht's absence had left her in a state depression that Auron was equally useless at fixing. She spent most of the day sleeping in her bedroom, leaving Tidus to his own unproductive devices. Auron vaguely wondered how they'd managed before he'd arrived to see that meals got served regularly.

Tidus was quiet today. Normally, an oblique comparison with Jecht like that would have led to at least a minor temper tantrum, but Tidus's response had been almost out of habit. He seemed unusually deep in thought, paying only cursory attention to Morro's song about the Power of Friendship.

Auron was a stoic man who valued his equanimity highly, so the squirm he made at this realization was purely internal. He was bound by honor to be Tidus's caretaker, which meant doing his best to stabilize the boy physically, mentally, _and_ emotionally, and if Tidus had something he wanted to confide in him, he was obligated to comfort him. However, one of the other things Auron had never, _ever_ been known as was a shoulder to cry on. He was more an "Endure. In enduring one grows strong." kind of guy to be honest, but that seemed… inadequate to reassure a seven year old boy whose world was falling apart. Well, inadequate if one was to avoid any _more_ mental scarring.

"Hey Auron…" Tidus said, just as Auron was searching for the least emotionally devastating way to go about this.

"Is there something you wish to speak of?" Auron said too quickly, struggling to appear somewhat approachable without utterly abdicating his dignity. To judge by Tidus's expression of mixed fear and confusion, he appeared to have failed on both counts.

"Uh… it's just that… I wannagoseeFlan-'dbeokayandshe'?!"

Auron winced. Tidus's speech had rapidly accelerated in speed and pitch, making the final plea break the sound barrier and both of his eardrums by the feel of it. "…What?"

"Flan-Man! On Ice! It's gonna be so cool! I've seen a billion commercials and there's gonna be a ton of swordfights and Flan-Man's gonna be _right there_ and it's gonna be _awesome_, you just _hafta _take me!"

Auron felt a Yunalesca-bitchslap of a headache coming on. "I'm afraid… I fail to understand… what?" A marvel of clarity, considering the circumstances.

"Flan-Man! You don't know who Flan-Man is? I knew you were weird, but come on! He's only the most greatest hero ever."

Auron, struggling to wrap his head around Tidus's grammatically challenged nonsense, dimly recalled something. "That… that is one of those programs you watch, correct?" he said, gesturing weakly towards the sphere where Morro and the Moombettes were exulting the benefits of sharing.

"Ugh, that's baby stuff." (_Then why were you watching it?_ Auron thought weakly, his initial confusion slowly being replaced by dread .) "Flan-Man is _so much _cooler. He fights bad guys with his Squish Sword and so he can save people and stuff! He fights all these guys like King Kusariqqu and…" _Squish Sword? Wouldn't being squishy utterly undermine the usefulness of a sword? Or _anything_? Unless it's named after the _sound _it makes when guts someone. But evisceration really makes more of a 'splorsch-' _"HEY! Are you even listening to me?!"

"…Of course. Now then. What does this 'Flan-Man' have to do with me?"

"You _weren't _listening! Just like my old man…"

Auron felt a twinge of guilt, but truly it was somewhat harsh of Tidus to expect him to listen to extending ranting about the perceived "coolness" of a superhero modeled after an unholy abomination of dead souls that resembled an upside-down pudding cup. "I merely sought to clarify your wishes."

Tidus gave him a long-suffering pout. "Like I _said_ the Zanarkand Upper City Amphitheater is gonna have _Flan-Man! On ICE!_ Limited engagements only! Tickets on sale now at local retailers, so GO GO GO FLAAAAAAAAN-MAAAAAAAAN AWAY!"

_Herd. Of. Chocobos. ON MY FOREHEAD!_ "And you wish to see this… performance?"

"Duh. Who wouldn't?"

_People with taste. Or intelligence. Or sanity. _ "And you want me to accompany you?"

Tidus looked to the side and scratched his neck. "Well, you need a parent and/or guardian-" (_HA!_) "and I asked Mom already. She's sick though, you know?"

He knew. "Tidus… your mother…"

"Yeah, I'm not supposed to bug her, but this is really important, see? And she didn't say _no_, just that she couldn't go but if _you_ could take me then…"

Auron looked at him. He had an aching head and an exceptionally bad feeling about this, and yet… saying no seemed excessively cruel at this point. He'd been unable to fix a single broken piece of the boy's life; how could he refuse this? '_I apologize for allowing your father to die and your mother to slide into suicidal depression. Oh, and planning to destroy any semblance of a normal life that you have in the future. But honestly, taking you to see an ice skating show? That is _just _too much to ask. How about another evening of watching reruns while I clean my katana for the seven hundred and fifty second time this week?' _The boy was making _that_ face, the one Jecht used when asking about the victory parades that he assumed would be held for them, parades he thought he and Braska would actually _be around for_…

"So… will you take me? Please?"

"I… suppose so."


End file.
